Out from the folds of the impenetrable mist that rolled through the hollows of the low mounds that formed that natural amphitheatre, came the sound of many voices, and the effect was strange, for one could not even see that a mass of people was assembled there. The hum that the newcomers heard when still some distance away became louder as they approached, and soon they were able to distinguish words and phrases--men calling aloud to men--some who had strayed from the friends were moving about calling their names, and occasionally singing out a hail in the forlorn hope of their voices being recognised; then there came the distressed wail of a woman who had got separated from her party, and with the laughter of a group who had got reunited after many wanderings. There was no lack of sounds, but no shape of men or women could be distinguished in the mist, until Wesley and his party were among them. And even then the dimly seen shapes had suggestions of the unreal about them. Some would loom larger than human for a few moments, and then vanish suddenly. Others seemed grotesquely transfigured in the mist as if they had enwrapped themselves in a disguise of sackcloth. They seemed not to be flesh and blood, but only shadows. Coming suddenly upon them, one felt that one had wandered to another world--a region of restless shadows. How was any man to preach to such a congregation? How was a preacher to put force into his words, when failing to see the people before him? When Wesley found himself on the eminence where he had spoken to the multitude on his first coming to Cornwall, and several times later, he looked down in front of him and saw nothing except the fine gauze of the grey clouds that rolled around the rocks. He stood there feeling that he was the only living being in a world that was strange to him. He thought of the poet who had gone to the place of departed spirits, and realised his awful isolation. How was he to speak words of life to this spectral host? He had never known what fear was even when he had faced a maddened crowd bent upon the most strenuous opposition to his preaching: he had simply paid no attention to them, and the sound of his voice had held them back from him and their opposition had become parched. But now he felt something akin to terror. Who was he that he should make this attempt to do what no man had ever done before? He fell upon his knees and prayed aloud. Light--Light--Light--that was the subject of his prayer. He was there with the people who had walked in darkness--he had walked with them, and now they were in the presence of the One who had said “Let there be Light.” He prayed that the Light of the World might appear to them at that time--the Light that shineth through the darkness that comprehended Him not. He prayed for light to understand the Light, as the poet had done out of the darkness of his blindness. “So much the rather, Thou Celestial Light,